This has got to be the most embarrassing thing to happen to this kid, ever. The 80s were ridiculous.
Best line: "You're gonna look like cooked spaghetti." or "After we kill him, strip him down"
Friday, October 26, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Terrible.
I'm a terrible person.
Joe Theismann's viscious leg break set to Hallelujah as performed by Rufus Wainright. Compiled by yours truly.
Joe Theismann's viscious leg break set to Hallelujah as performed by Rufus Wainright. Compiled by yours truly.
God I Rule At Tony Hawk
The latest from the guys (and gals) at CH. This one was written by Jake Hurwitz and Sarah Schneider, and it amazing.
It's really difficult to pick a favorite part, so I'll just let you watch it.
It's all just so good.
It's really difficult to pick a favorite part, so I'll just let you watch it.
It's all just so good.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Ehhhh... LeBron
LeBron decided to support Cleveland. He flip-flops. I don't trust him.
I think we're jinxed now.
I'm not that big of a basketball fan, but I think I can be pissed at him until the season starts.
I think we're jinxed now.
I'm not that big of a basketball fan, but I think I can be pissed at him until the season starts.
!!!
It's really hard to discuss the band !!! with people. Let me explain:
The band says its pronounced "chk chk chk," but it doesn't make it easier to describe to anyone who hasn't heard of the band. I was explaining to a friend that anyone you tell would think the name is "chick chick chick" and not "!!!" Anyways, here is my new foolproof way to describe them.
Me: Hey, have you ever heard of chk chk chk?
Random Person: No. That's a cool name though, "chick chick chick." Is it a bunch of girls?
M: No, you misunderstand. The name is chk chk chk.
RP: That's what I said.
M: No, the name is "CAT!!!" without the "cat."
RP: Okay, so their name is an exclamation point?
M: Again, no. Listen closely: CAT!!!
RP: Oh, three exclamation points. Bitchin', I think I'll check them out.
Thanks for the confusing conversations you've caused, !!!.
The band says its pronounced "chk chk chk," but it doesn't make it easier to describe to anyone who hasn't heard of the band. I was explaining to a friend that anyone you tell would think the name is "chick chick chick" and not "!!!" Anyways, here is my new foolproof way to describe them.
Me: Hey, have you ever heard of chk chk chk?
Random Person: No. That's a cool name though, "chick chick chick." Is it a bunch of girls?
M: No, you misunderstand. The name is chk chk chk.
RP: That's what I said.
M: No, the name is "CAT!!!" without the "cat."
RP: Okay, so their name is an exclamation point?
M: Again, no. Listen closely: CAT!!!
RP: Oh, three exclamation points. Bitchin', I think I'll check them out.
Thanks for the confusing conversations you've caused, !!!.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The BoSox Are Next.
The Tribe finally won their ALDS series last night. And to think, I was skeptic of Eric Wedge pitching Byrd last night.
(This is the first good thing to happen to Ohio in a long time).
p.s. Everything is cooler in a three-piece suit.
(This is the first good thing to happen to Ohio in a long time).
p.s. Everything is cooler in a three-piece suit.
Friday, October 5, 2007
If you were there, beware
Being alone in England is fun, but having uncles there is more fun. Case in point: my last day in England.
It started pretty normal for me, waking up at half past twelve with an awful hangover (I'd been drinking for two weeks straight) and no motivation. I knew I'd be going to a 'barbie' with one of my uncles, so I had a quick breakfast and my uncle picked me up and we were off.
I had met the guy who owned the place the night earlier. He can put a pint back like nothing, but I'm in my prime. He looks like your average Englishman: glasses, stout, mid-30s, but a cool guy nonetheless. He had a bar in his garage, a nice one at that.
Well, my uncle, this fella and a few other guys were drinking by 1:30 and the food was ready by 3, so it was your average barbecue. But this went on well into the night. We drank until at least midnight, and when it goes on that long, you're just going to want more.
The time to leave came, and I was begging my uncle to go to another pub or a club, anywhere that I could grab another pint. He was dressed in his finest swim trunks and flip-flops, so he had to decline. He did tell me he'd drop me off at the Irish Club near where I was staying, though.
So the taxi dropped me off, his parting words,"Promise me you'll go home after this, and no where else." I agreed. My other uncle's place, where I was staying, was about one minute up the road, so I figured that's what I'd do.
I step inside the club, see some familiar faces, say hello, then make it to the bar. I got a cold pint of Carling and took a seat. I gulped it down, and figured I'd leave.
I begin my trek back. Walking home inebriated is my forte. I started college the year before, so I had a year's training and was a veteran. Piece of cake.
Just your typical Saturday night, see a few drunkards, some girls all dolled up for the evening. The house was around the bend and then it hit me. My ear drums rang with that oh-so-soothing sound of the Arctic Monkeys. I looked for the source of it and noticed that it emanated from a house party nearby.
The Arctic Monkeys have been my favorite band since their first album came out. I figured my cousins who live in England would be fans, but they weren't. I'd heard "I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor" in a bar once since I was there. I was underwhelmed.
But this. Finally someone who shared my taste. I need to go there! I debated whether or not to go to the party, which was sitting there, blasting the Monkeys like a Siren singing to me. After a drunken argument with myself, the music pulled me in.
I get to the door, which is surrounded by people enjoying a smoke after a beer. I muster all of my drunken courage, "I'm Thomas, I'm an American, and I love the Arctic Monkeys."
"Spot on, mate. I've never met an American before."
We were drunk. Obviously. I silently agreed to a line of questioning about America in exchange for all the booze I could drink.
It was a good time, finally hanging out with kids my age. We were there until about 4 am until the party died down. Then I finally made it home.
And let me tell you, 14 hours of drinking does not do a body good.
It started pretty normal for me, waking up at half past twelve with an awful hangover (I'd been drinking for two weeks straight) and no motivation. I knew I'd be going to a 'barbie' with one of my uncles, so I had a quick breakfast and my uncle picked me up and we were off.
I had met the guy who owned the place the night earlier. He can put a pint back like nothing, but I'm in my prime. He looks like your average Englishman: glasses, stout, mid-30s, but a cool guy nonetheless. He had a bar in his garage, a nice one at that.
Well, my uncle, this fella and a few other guys were drinking by 1:30 and the food was ready by 3, so it was your average barbecue. But this went on well into the night. We drank until at least midnight, and when it goes on that long, you're just going to want more.
The time to leave came, and I was begging my uncle to go to another pub or a club, anywhere that I could grab another pint. He was dressed in his finest swim trunks and flip-flops, so he had to decline. He did tell me he'd drop me off at the Irish Club near where I was staying, though.
So the taxi dropped me off, his parting words,"Promise me you'll go home after this, and no where else." I agreed. My other uncle's place, where I was staying, was about one minute up the road, so I figured that's what I'd do.
I step inside the club, see some familiar faces, say hello, then make it to the bar. I got a cold pint of Carling and took a seat. I gulped it down, and figured I'd leave.
I begin my trek back. Walking home inebriated is my forte. I started college the year before, so I had a year's training and was a veteran. Piece of cake.
Just your typical Saturday night, see a few drunkards, some girls all dolled up for the evening. The house was around the bend and then it hit me. My ear drums rang with that oh-so-soothing sound of the Arctic Monkeys. I looked for the source of it and noticed that it emanated from a house party nearby.
The Arctic Monkeys have been my favorite band since their first album came out. I figured my cousins who live in England would be fans, but they weren't. I'd heard "I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor" in a bar once since I was there. I was underwhelmed.
But this. Finally someone who shared my taste. I need to go there! I debated whether or not to go to the party, which was sitting there, blasting the Monkeys like a Siren singing to me. After a drunken argument with myself, the music pulled me in.
I get to the door, which is surrounded by people enjoying a smoke after a beer. I muster all of my drunken courage, "I'm Thomas, I'm an American, and I love the Arctic Monkeys."
"Spot on, mate. I've never met an American before."
We were drunk. Obviously. I silently agreed to a line of questioning about America in exchange for all the booze I could drink.
It was a good time, finally hanging out with kids my age. We were there until about 4 am until the party died down. Then I finally made it home.
And let me tell you, 14 hours of drinking does not do a body good.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Sorry...
It's been a while since I've posted, I know. I was all up in the British Isles and Ireland for a month there. I'll start posting again within the week and have some tales from the road as well.
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